Ghosts in the Navy Yard
by Paranaturally
Summary: Dean and Tony try to work out their relationship while the Winchester brothers are brought back to Washington for a job. Slash, established pairing.
1. Prologue

Hello! First off I wanna say I'm not new to FFN. I was once This Is Da Vinci Speaking, but I wanted to move on and get a new account since my interests have changed.

Now, this fic in particular is just an experiment as I get my bearings back in writing for such large fanbases (in my absence I'd gotten quite deep into Old Hollywood and was writing for that) so I'm fully aware it's terrible. Hopefully I'll have more quality stuff as I go along!

* * *

**Prologue**

"Need a neck rub? I'm pretty fantastic at giving neck rubs."

Dean grins to himself despite his exhaustion; he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and lets out a world-weary sigh before blinking blearily over at his boyfriend, who's standing in the doorway to the bathroom wearing nothing but a scratchy motel towel slung low on his hips. He's got two bottles of beer, one in each hand, and a seemingly innocent smirk on his face.

But if there's one thing the eldest Winchester brother knows, it's that Anthony DiNozzo never _smirks_ innocently.

"A beer for me?" Dean muses. "Just tell me when, baby, and I'll put a nice ring on that finger."

Tony chews his cheek, employing his classic passive-aggressive expression before walking over to the table at which Dean sits, Sam's laptop open in front of him along with the Winchester journal and some scattered papers. Tony sets a sweating bottle in an empty patch of table beside the laptop and parks himself in the chair opposite Dean.

"So," he starts, this time actually sounding passive-aggressive as he brings the bottle up to his lips, "what brings your pretty little ass over to DC again?"

Dean hesitates. Tony knows what he does, but seeing as telling the truth practically put a catastrophic end to their very intense relationship, Dean's always been careful about bringing it up when he's in Tony's presence. "Ghost," he says carefully, stapling his eyes to the laptop screen.

"Is it the same one that was attacking my team?" Tony asks, almost genuinely concerned.

"No. Sam and I ganked that one for good."

Tony nods, clearly trying to hide his relief. "Whatever _ganked_ means I'm guessing it's a good thing for us." He takes another swig of beer, then begins to watch Dean as he goes back to reading the amateur info page on the laptop. It's one of three things illuminating the room, the other two being the lone lamp on the wall above the double bed some feet away and the light from the bathroom across the room. In the dim light Tony can see just how tired Dean is; how he's still conscious is a mystery not even the criminal investigator can solve.

"How you doin', Dean?" he asks softly. He doesn't expect a positive answer.

There's a few beats before Dean peels his wide gaze from the screen and meets Tony's eyes. Something stirs in the older man's chest. "Honestly? I'm about to put a stake through my skull."

That's exactly what Tony wanted to hear. He sets his beer down on the table and reaches over, shutting the laptop gently. "Come on," he murmurs. "Sam will get the rest of the research done. Time to get you to bed."

Dean's got his arms wrapped tightly around Tony's chest from behind when he manages to fall halfway unconscious. Tony, however, is still wide awake, his right hand brushing absent patterns on Dean's wrist, brows furrowed in silent concentration. He can feel Dean's steady breath on the back on his neck, the little involuntary grunts he makes as he slips further and further into sleep…it's comforting. Five years ago he never would have imagined he would end up in a relationship with a man, but once he found himself thinking about Dean in more-than-friendly ways, it wasn't all that surprising. He was pretty much his type.

But the motels...

"Dean..."

Five full seconds pass before Dean replies. He shifts so his bare chest is pressed into Tony's equally bare back. "Mmm?"

"Next time you should stay at my apartment while you're in D.C. This...the motels, you're wasting money you don't have." He grimaces. "And I'm not even legally supposed to know about your...financial methods..."

"I couldn't do that to Sam."

Tony sighs and nods. "Can you blame me for trying?"

Wordlessly—and still somewhat groggily—Dean reaches up to turn Tony's head around, giving him room to shift onto his back before leaning up and pressing their lips together firmly.

"'Sokay," he murmurs, mile-long eyelashes resting on defined cheekbones as Dean tries and fails to open his eyes. "I'll talk..."

Tony searches his face, eyes adjusted to the dark. He presses his fingertips into the small of Dean's back, the dip beneath the waistband of his boxers. "You'll...talk to Sam?"

"Mmm," is all Dean manages before he's down for the count.

Tony plants an affectionate kiss to his forehead. "I doubt that, dude."

=o=o=o=o=

When Dean wakes up to uncomfortable sunlight attempting to peer in from behind the grungy motel curtains, he's alone in bed. A twinge of disappointment and guilt pokes him in the head upon sitting up and spotting a piece of stationery on the table. He knows that sign...it's one he's quite familiar with but not so much recently.

Just as he hauls himself out of bed and pops his neck a few times (earning a satisfied shudder and groan), a knock at the door breaks through his sluggishness.

"Dean, it's me. I got coffee for you guys."

Dean shuffles over to the door and opens it, rubbing sleep from his eyes as Sam's ever-innocent face towers over him, holding in one hand a cardboard coffee tray with three cups in holders and assorted sugar and cream packets stuffed in the empty one.

"Tony's not here," Dean replies, leaning against the door.

Sam frowns. "...Well where'd he go?"

"I dunno. Probably went to work. He left a note on the table, haven't read it yet."

Decades of hunting has taught Dean Winchester several important things, one of which being how to read a tense situation seconds before it happens. They're only seconds; then again seconds are the difference between life and death when you deal with ghosts and demons and monsters and death staring you in the face every day. That skill helps the brothers think quickly, helps them decide what to do in no time flat, and it comes in handy right about now as Sam's frown deepens and he turns his head towards the parking lot behind him.

"You might wanna read that note, Dean."

And of course, the sight of Tony's car sitting in the spot beside Dean's '67 Chevy Impala, right where it'd been the night before, is one of those times when Dean can't think of anything at all.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Dean grips the note written on the motel stationery in his hand, not sure whether to feel relieved or concerned. He supposes he should feel grateful that the note says "_Went for a jog_" as opposed to "_Kidnapped by demons, yikes_" but the sensation in his gut is still not one he's completely comfortable with having.

He sips tentatively at the coffee his brother had brought him, brow furrowed. "Sam, hand me my phone, wouldya?"

"You think Tony's in trouble?" the younger man asks, grabbing the cell off the nightstand and carrying over to Dean.

Dean takes the phone from Sam's outstretched hand but doesn't answer him. He notes the genuine concern in his voice and appreciates it, though, as he flips open the phone and dials a number he had committed to memory early in the game. It rings twice exactly before someone picks up.

"NCIS, this is Agent Timothy McGee..."

"McGeek, hey!"

Tim glances at the caller ID on the phone before slumping slightly in his desk chair, clearly not ready for this torture so early in the morning. "Is _everyone_ calling me that, now?"

Dean smirks reflexively, carefully peeling off the lid of his coffee cup. "You know, Tony's right; I really could get used to that."

"That's wonderful, Dean." Tim narrows his eyes over to Tony's empty desk, then casts his gaze past the top of Ziva's head and to the elevators, getting more nervous by the second that his boss is going to stride out of it. "Speaking of Tony, do you know where he is? He's late."

Pouring a packet of sugar into his coffee, Dean swallows. The bitterness of the first few sips sticks in his throat as it lands that his companion is not at work either. "He's sick," he lies. "I um...wanted to call in on his behalf."

There's something in his voice that doesn't sit well with Tim. The agent lowers his tone and ducks his head behind his computer monitor, hoping the busy noise of the surrounding bullpens will drown out the carry of sound. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dean rasps. He really should calm down; he has no valid reason for panic at this point. He would've noticed or woken up had a demon or other monster come into the motel room, plus the signs like sulfur or chilled air…Tony probably did actually go for a jog. Dean starts feeling a little silly. "He must've come down with something. I'll send him in the minute he feels better."

He closes the phone before Tim has a chance to speak again.

=o=o=o=o=

Sam suggests calling Castiel to find Tony but Dean flatly refuses, arguing that the angel had better things to do than a menial task set by him. Plus, he'd gotten an earful the last time he asked for something he was _sure_ wasn't trivial before he actually asked for the favor. He couldn't remember everything Cas had said, but he remembered it equated to "stop bothering me you piece of shit I am an angel not a manservant" and a very ruffled exit on his part.

Dean assures Sam he'll be alright and he's left alone to pace the room while Sam retreats to his own to continue research for the job they're in D.C. for to begin with...and not ten minutes later the door opens once again.

Dean stops pacing. "Where've you been?"

Tony stops and blinks at him, glancing around the room for either an exit or a sign for the reason behind Dean's tone. "Uh...the note I wrote? Wasn't just there to make the table look pretty."

Dean's breath hitches at Tony's big "innocent" smile but his worry and pounding heart overcome that. He takes a few heavy steps towards him then halts. "In my line of work," he murmurs, voice wavering imperceptibly, "when people up and disappear for no _easily confirmed _reason—"

Tony winces. He hadn't thought about that. "Sorry." His tone is just a breath. "Sorry. I am. I was tired, I had to clear my head, I just didn't think about it. I'm fine." He holds his arms out as if to show he hasn't been injured in any way. NCIS-issued t-shirt clear of blood, sweatpants the same."See?"

Dean marches over to the duffel bag sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room. "Gimme your arm."

Cautiously closing the door and approaching Dean, Tony's brow furrows in confusion. "Why, what're you...?" He balks when Dean pulls his special knife from the bag. "Whoa, hold on a sec there, babe, I—"

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean says, placing a bottle of holy water on the table. "I just...have to make sure."

"Does making sure involve me bleeding to death because I don't really enjoy that plan."

"Tony."

Their eyes meet and Tony's guard wobbles. He trusts Dean, that's not the issue. It's the fear in his gaze that causes him to falter. The fear is quiet, like it's tired of existing, like Dean's tired of having to deal with all the precautions and suspicion and worry. Tony swallows.

He silently holds his left arm out to Dean, who takes a deep breath before sliding the sharp end of the blade against the smooth surface of his companion's skin, right beside a scar he'd gotten in the line of duty. Tony hisses, but it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. The blood wells and thickens the red line, and part of Dean seems to relax.

"Here," says Dean, offering a towel from the bag to press on the cut. His hand lingers on Tony's arm before he takes the bottle and unscrews the cap. "And here."

The federal agent takes the bottle and downs half the water in one go. When he's done, Dean's hands are on his face and their lips are crushed together in what feels like relieved frustration to Tony. He'd passed the tests, now comes the emotion.

Tony gladly returns the kiss, gripping the back of Dean's neck, squeezing firmly, reassuring him that yes, it's him and he's here and fine.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispers against Dean's lips. "I won't do that again, okay?"

Dean embraces him, and Tony can feel the frantic heartbeat slow down to a normal, gentle thrum.


	3. Chapter Two

Thanks for your reviews!

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**Chapter Two**

Sam watches with a particularly defined bitch-face across the table as his older brother and a professional Navy Criminal Investigative Service agent shovel pancakes into their mouths as if they'd been declared illegal in all fifty states and D.C. is next. Tony pauses just long enough to reach across Dean's plate and grab the blueberry syrup pitcher, an action Dean ignores completely and maneuvers his own arm around Tony's to get a forkful of buttermilk goodness into his mouth.

"You know, IHOP's never gonna let us eat here again," Sam mutters. "They're gonna put out an APB to all the IHOPs in the country."

Dean gives a goofy smirk while chewing, picking up a piece of bacon from his and Tony's shared bacon plate. "You just don't understand the magic of food, man. You never have, and I gotta be honest, it hurts my feelings a little."

Tony suppresses a belch and nods in agreement. "Breakfast is the best meal of the day, Sam. When our waitress comes back you order something good; this is all my treat."

Sam's bitch-face deepens. "Your treat."

Nodding again, Tony lowers his voice and snatches a piece of bacon just as Dean dives for it. "You know I can't legally approve of your financial system so I'll do the paying."

Dean smiles smugly and spears a bite of pancake with his fork.

Sam glances down at his own finished plate that once held egg whites, whole-wheat toast, and turkey sausage. "I thought I did okay."

"Dude, that's not breakfast," Dean informs him sternly. "That's not even a snack. Pancakes, bacon, eggs sunny-side up, toast with jam, sausage, ham..._this_," he stirs his fork in the air, gesturing to his and Tony's dishes for emphasis, "is how you eat."

"I'll make sure to order half the restaurant next time," Sam murmurs indignantly as he roams his eyes once again over the plates taking up more than three fourths of the table.

"'Atta boy."

"Have you made progress?" asks Tony around a mouthful of bacon. "Who's the ghost?"

"Well I didn't really get a lot of time to check it out this morning—" Dean looks affronted at this and takes his hand off of Tony's thigh under the table, "—but I think it might be more than one ghost."

"If they're not buried in the same plot right on top of each other I'm gonna be really pissed," Dean grumbles.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "I know. But luckily the Hannenbergs and the MacGuires are the only families being attacked so I think it's only two ghosts. It's a little weird that they attacked at the same _time_, but..."

"So just...run-of-the-mill ghosties then, huh?"

"Looks like it."

Tony seems particularly pleased by this as he turns to Dean. "You think you'll be done by lunch?"

"If not, then definitely dinner."

Sam can't help but feel a twinge of frustration in his chest as he observes the two men sitting across from him. They are clearly holding back any PDA their human instincts are begging of them and Sam fights to roll his eyes. He wishes they could live in a world where neither of them are too proud to give the other a reasonable kiss, or even hold hands in public.

"Why did you take the day off?" Sam asks, interrupting the eye-fuck taking place in front of him.

Tony appears flustered. "I um..." When Dean lifts his brow expectantly, he clears his throat. "I...wanted to...spend time with Dean. It's been thirteen months but really...really it's only been one." Dean lowers his gaze to his pancake plate. "Anyway, I didn't take the whole day off."

Dean does something that surprises the other two just then: he takes Tony's hand and squeezes it.

"I'll be done for dinner. I promise."

Slowly and silently Sam turns his head away, grinning.

=o=o=o=o=

When Tony exits the elevator onto his floor, the first thing he notices is that Tim and Ziva are not at their desks. Upon further investigation he also notices there's no coffee cup on Gibbs's desk nor in the wastebasket beside it, implying that he'd taken it with him wherever he'd gone, which also meant he more than likely took Tim and Ziva with him as well.

Tony sets down his bag on his own desk and eases into his chair, keeping one eye glued to the elevator doors. Just as he makes contact with the seat, a black, white, and red blur dive-tackles him nearly out of the chair and onto the floor.

"Tony! Why weren't you here this morning?!"

Tony takes a second to recover from the sudden onslaught of metal spikes and chains before answering. "Abby, it's still technically morning...ouch." He manages to get an awkward back-pat in before Abby pulls away. "I wasn't feeling well."

Abby places her hands firmly on her hips and employs a very mischievous smirk, emphasized by her blood-red lipstick. "That's a lie, Tony DiNozzo."

Tony blinks, rubbing his shoulder, certain her throat spears gouged him. "Wh—"

"I keep track of paranormal happenings in the area you know, ever since that incident last year—well more like…my whole life but that's beside the point," Abby waves her hands to "erase" her own tangent, "there are two incidents of paranormal criteria within blocks of each other right around this general area, and that means..."

She doesn't finish her sentence, practically vibrating with excitement as Tony stares at her, dumbfounded.

"That means _what_, Abby?"

She jabs her finger in his direction. "Dean Winchester is in town, isn't he?!"

On instinct, Tony glances around to make sure nobody heard, then he nods tersely. "Maybe. Maybe I went to a strip club. You'll never know. Hey, where'd Scooby and the gang go?"

Abby rolls her eyes. She is going to get Tony to talk to her about Dean if it is the last thing she does on Earth...but another time. The team probably does need Tony's help right about now. "They're in Alexandria. I guess a petty officer was killed in some kind of robbery at his home. You go; I'll text you the address."

Tony's on his feet again before she finishes talking, and he grabs his bag and flashes his most brilliant smile. "Thank you, Abs. Remind me I owe you a Caf-Pow."

As he trots over to the elevator slinging his bag over his shoulder, Abby smiles.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Dean is surprised upon his return come lunchtime to see Tony sitting in the middle of the motel bed, legs crossed and laptop open on the comforter in front of him. He has a pair of wiry rectangular spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, a concentrated frown accented by the glow of the screen, and he's sucking his teeth as he processes whatever it is he's doing.

"You wear glasses?" Dean asks, his voice slightly hoarse as he tightly grips the doorknob behind him. He shifts the weapon bag on his shoulder awkwardly.

Tony briefly glances over at the younger man, making a distracted confirmation noise while clicking something on the laptop. "Sure do."

Dean's immediately locking the door and approaching the bed, unloading the duffel onto the floor before leaning over the bed, leaning one hand on the bed while taking Tony's face in the other, and pressing an urgent kiss to his shocked lips.

Gathering his bearings again, Tony reaches up and squeezes the back of Dean's neck firmly—his signature kissing move for him—parting his lips and relishing Dean's taste and relieved exhale as the kiss deepens. They battle tongues for a few moments before Tony reluctantly breaks the kiss.

"Hungry?" he purrs, grinning broadly.

Dean's groin tightens at this and he kneels onto the bed, shedding his jacket in one fluid move. "Oh _hell_ yes," he growls.

Without a second thought, Tony snaps the laptop shut and pushes it aside on the bed, making room for he and Dean to collapse together, bodies moving together to remove clothing and gain as much friction as possible before either one of them loses the immediate will to live.

Fifteen minutes later finds them sated and tired, sweaty and breathless, coming down from a fevered high, lying on their backs beside each other. Linked hands resting between them are the only physical contact at that point.

"So," Dean starts, shamelessly folding his free arm behind his head, eyes darting across the ceiling. "Why're you here?"

"Well, my mother and father had some sort of relationship that eventually led to conception—"

Smirking, Dean shakes his head and squeezes Tony's hand. "We had a lunch date."

Tony turns his head to face Dean. "We did. And I planned to make it. That's why I'm here. We had a case but it was open and shut; the wife pretty much immediately admitted to killing her husband and we had some pretty hard evidence right away. One of the quickest cases we've ever had actually."

Dean's watching Tony talk. "You sure you didn't put away an innocent woman just so you could keep a lunch date with me?"

It's Tony's turn to grin. "You get rid of the ghosts yet?"

"Tonight. We gotta um..." He hesitates. "We gotta...do something...slightly less than legal that...may or may not consist of defacement of a cemetery."

Tony purses his lips, not quite irritated. "You gotta dig up a grave?"

"It's the only way to gank these things. Salt and burn the remains, man."

There's a brief pause before Tony speaks again. "Make sure I'm nowhere near you when you do this. _I_ don't give a rat's ass what you do but it could cost me my job."

Dean lets go of Tony's hand and reaches over to rub his stomach affectionately. "Yes, sir," he murmurs seductively.

Tony winks at him.

=o=o=o=o=

Hours later, well after the sun has set, Dean and Sam are sitting in the Impala, staring out at the graveyard in front of them with matching furrowed brows. Dean taps his thumb on the wheel of the car absently, his frown deepening, and finally Sam slowly looks over at him.

"I know this might sound crazy," the youngest in the car says steadily, in a tone he's often employed that makes him sound like he's either talking to a ticking time bomb of a mental patient or a toddler, "but usually the best way to dig up a grave is to not be in the car while you're doing it."

"Do you think I would've made a good cop?"

Sam's eyebrows nearly jump off his face. "_What_?"

"Never mind, let's go."

Sam briefly considers checking his brother's pupils but initially shrugs it off, following suit when Dean ducks out of the car and shuts the door after himself. Still, that was a rather uncharacteristic question and curiosity is a strong beast.

"Have you eaten any funny brownies lately?"

Dean actually grins as he sticks the key in the lock and opens the trunk. "Nah. I guess I'm just..." His hand freezes over the shovels inside the trunk as he's suddenly drenched in arctic air, his breath coming out in vapor puffs in front of him.

Without batting an eyelash, Dean grabs the salt and shovels while Sam dives forward and snatches one of the sawed-offs and a flashlight. In sync they slam the trunk shut and make a mad dash to the cemetery, frantically searching for the right pair of tombstones before their defensive guests arrive.

"You know," Dean barks as Sam hurriedly shines the light at the slabs of stone, "for a pair of twins who were separated at birth, living separate lives and reunited only to be murdered by their respective adoptive parents..." He ducks and races down a row of graves, squinting at the names carved into them, "..._in_ their own homes...these ladies are kinda cranky!"

"Shit!" Sam hisses just then, the flashlight going off and flying out of his hands.

"Found them!" Dean exclaims suddenly. Without delay he begins laying a large enough circle of salt around the adjoining graves, giving plenty of room to dig, and once the circle is closed Sam lowers the sawed-off, exhaling deeply. Dean tosses him a shovel and, upon Sam dropping the gun, they begin to dig.

Sam comes upon his coffin first. He hoists himself out of the hole in the ground to grab the salt and lighter fluid Dean had in his jacket pocket, dumps the salt, squirts the fluid, lights a lighter, wipes his brow as the bones go up in flame with ease.

"How you doin', Dean?"

"Almost there," Dean mutters, still digging. Sam frowns slightly. "Come help me, will ya?"

Sam grabs his shovel and jumps down to assist.

Once that skeleton is also in flames, the younger Winchester turns to his brother. "You seem distracted."

Dean shakes his head distractedly.

Another silence as Sam rolls his eyes. They stare at the fires for a moment or two before Dean speaks up again, his voice quiet.

"It's about Tony."

"Are you two okay?" asks Sam, concerned.

"We're fine." Dean sets his jaw. "I think I'm..."

Pause.

"Pregnant?"

A full five seconds pass before Dean leisurely turns his head to Sam, staring at him as if he spontaneously grew four extra arms. Sam shrugs.


	5. Chapter Four

Thank you again for your reviews, they make me happy!

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**Chapter Four**

The ride back to the motel in the Impala is silent for the most part, Dean drumming idly on the steering wheel again to an unheard tune in his head while Sam rides a train of thought to several different stations. When he glances over to Dean, the eldest Winchester is really into his song, bobbing his head along with the beat, mouth silently going over the words, hands not only tapping out the rhythm on the wheel but also air-drumming.

"You're what?"

Dean jumps and grabs the wheel to avoid swerving. "Scared the shit out of me," he mutters once his pulse slows once more. He takes a quick look to Sam. "My what?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not 'your'—'you are.' You were trying to tell me something back at the cemetery."

Dean warily nods his head in recognition, focused on the road now. "Yeah I guess I was..."

"Wanna tell me now?"

Dean doesn't answer right away, making sure to choose his words carefully. "We don't really talk about this kinda stuff, Sam."

"Fair enough," Sam admits, lifting his hands in agreement. "But you seemed kinda happy to tell me something. You said it's about Tony?"

At the mention of his name, Dean's stomach flips twice, confirming what he'd thought. "Yeah. Yeah, but...just forget it."

"You...feel strongly about him, don't you?"

There's a pause and Dean's knuckles briefly turn white on the wheel, a muscle working in his jaw. He keeps his eyes glued to the road but Sam can tell he's thinking of what to say next. They're not far away from the motel by now, and Sam knows once they pull into the parking lot Dean's going to drop the subject completely. Yet he doesn't want to push.

"I'm worried," Dean says quietly. He doesn't like having heart-to-hearts with his brother on this particular subject but there's no one else to talk to besides Tony himself or Castiel...the latter of whom would more than likely have no valuable or even remotely proficient input whatsoever. "Our lives aren't exactly the safest ones to share with...people we love."

Sam is surprised at this confession, yet remains silent and listening, mainly because he's never up until that point heard his brother actually willingly admit he loves someone, let alone someone outside of family. There's a suspicion that this love is what Dean wanted to admit before having the chance to think about it and decide upon something else more disheartening.

"I'm worried that once I allow myself to...really enjoy Tony...something will happen. To him, to me, to both of us..."

"Like what happened to Jess," Sam murmurs. It's not a question.

Dean glances at him again, swallowing. "Yeah."

Sam takes a moment to think about this. "That makes sense. But...Tony's job is dangerous in its own right. Not as dangerous as ours but...maybe he's worried about the same stuff. Talk to him and maybe you can work something out, or even just get it off your chests."

Dean shifts in his seat. "You think so? You think he..." He makes a vague gesture before turning into the motel lot.

"Dean, I watch how he looks at you, how he talks to you. You guys stuck together for over a year even without being in the same state. He loves you."

Those words weigh heavily on Dean's mind as he enters his room alone, duffel slung over his shoulder and gun tucked firmly into the back of his belt. The lights are on and Tony is in the bed, fast asleep on his side with his back turned to the door, still in his clothes. The laptop is open and his report is staring directly at him, unfinished and abandoned in the middle of a word, which upon further investigation Dean realizes isn't an actual word but a random sequence of keys he suspects came to be out of either frustration or exhaustion. He smiles a little at the thought of the older man growling angrily and hitting the keyboard in a primal fashion.

Carefully Dean sets the duffel bag on the floor beside the bed and makes his way over to the mini-fridge, pulling out a beer. The tight _tsshk! _of the bottle opening doesn't even wake Tony, and Dean takes this opportunity to watch him sleep from across the room. He feels guilty for the fact that he's still here when he could be at his own place on what he imagines is a much comfier bed...

Dean's thoughts turn to imagining Tony's bed. He knows the man enough to imagine it's never made, possibly with various empty bottles of beer decorating every available surface of the room along with assorted empty pizza boxes—alright so it might not be _that_ unkempt, Dean thinks, but it's practically guaranteed that it looks like the room of a twenty-something instead of a man ten years his senior.

Then he begins to wonder how big the bed is...would it be large enough for two people? Tony had offered up his apartment to stay in while the brothers worked on their job, so surely there would be enough room. Unless there wasn't and Tony expected Dean to sleep on the couch.

Or on top of him. Or even beneath him. Either way, that would inevitably lead to—

"Dean."

The hunter jumps about a foot in the air as his view is suddenly blocked by a suit in a trenchcoat. "Fuck," he hisses. "Why is everyone scarin' the piss outta me tonight?!"

"My apologies," Castiel grumbles, nodding his head. "I did not mean to startle you."

Dean cringes as he sees Tony shift onto his back and blink his eyes open. "That's okay, Cas."

"Dean...?"

The mentioned man cranes his neck to get a better look at Tony; Cas seems to just then realize he's looking at another person. "Yeah, I'm here." He expects the startled expression once the other man registers there's a third party in the room. "This is Castiel. Cas," he looks square at the angel's face in slight irritation, "that is Agent Tony DiNozzo."

A look of recognition spreads over Cas's face. "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he recites, turning on his heel and striding over to the bed, at which he stops and extends an awkward hand to Tony, who takes it apprehensively. "I have heard much about you from Dean. He appears to feel a great deal of affection for you."

Dean blushes and Tony is still trying to grasp the fact that Castiel is actually a thing that exists and is touching him. He sits up, hand tightly clasping Cas's. "You...Dean told me about you. You're...you're an angel?"

"I am an angel of the Lord, yes."

Tony narrows his eyes skeptically. "Prove it."

There's a quick silence as Cas turns to look at Dean, who shrugs in amusement. The angel turns forward again, thinking, then, letting go of Tony's hand, shakes his head imperceptibly. "I could...leave and come back."

"Well, _I_ could do that, it's not much of a—" But Cas is already gone, and Tony lets out a yelp as he scoots back into the headboard. "—He just...!"

"He does that," Dean mutters, smirking and taking a swig of his beer. "He'll be back in a sec."

Sure enough, with a ruffle of invisible wings, Cas reappears exactly where he was standing before. "I hope that will suffice...I'm not sure what else I can do to prove it."

Tony is very pale, and for a second Dean is afraid he's going to get sick. "I...that's..."

Dean meanders over to the bed. "Hey, Cas, next time warn a guy before you do that, okay? He's not used to the same things Sam and I are."

"I apologize," Cas mutters again.

Tony grabs Dean's arm as the younger man leans towards him supportively. "He-he's an angel, Dean. I've seen a ghost but there is an _angel_ standing in this room."

"I know," Dean responds, taking another drink. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Not exactly what I expected when...when you said he's an angel, but..."

"He's the only angel I trust," Dean says, looking over at Cas, who is standing awkwardly to the side, not sure of what to do with himself. "No offense, Cas, but your brothers and sisters are dickweeds."

Cas nods again, pursing his lips. He's clearly heard this before. "I should tell you why I arrived..."

"The floor is yours," Dean says, extending his arm and beer out to a metaphorical floor. He knows Cas doesn't understand the reference when he looks down to the actual floor, confused. "Speak, Cas."

"Of course. There is some sort of dark energy shadowing Tony that you should be wary of, Dean. It would be best if you didn't let him out of your sight."

Dean's heart immediately sinks into a pit in his stomach; it's pretty much exactly what he was dreading. "A..._dark energy_?" Tony is visibly alarmed at this but Dean doesn't look at him. "Cas, what does that mean?"

The angel merely shakes his head. "I am not certain. I failed to get a proper glimpse of it. Until I am able to ascertain what it is, do not leave his side. Be prepared for anything."

Before Dean can get another word out, Cas is gone.


	6. Chapter Five

This chapter is a piece of crap and you shouldn't read it.

I'd just gotten SO STUCK that I had to force my way through it and the end result is terrible so go easy on me.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"Look at it this way," Dean says, securely fastening a visitor's badge to his jacket and grinning at the security guard manning the metal detector, "at least it means I'm in D.C. longer."

Tony retrieves his keys from the basket on the table some feet from the detector and pockets them once more, looking at Dean with affection but slight irritation. "I could celebrate that for a thousand years but do you have to come to work with me?" He grabs his backpack from the conveyor belt passing it out of the scanner and shoulders it.

Dean nods firmly and the couple starts towards the elevator. "You heard Cas. Dark shadow things or whatever. Gotta protect you."

Tony hits the "up" button as Dean gives him a smug smirk. "With what? You have none of your weapons. You gonna choke a ghost, Dean? You gonna kick him in the balls?"

The smugness of Dean's smirk is gradually replaced with what can only be described as deep affection. "I got salt and holy water in my pocket."

They board the elevator and Tony jabs his finger into the button of the floor he needs, but not even five silent seconds pass before he flicks the switch to stop the elevator, the emergency lights shutting on as the main ones shut off. Tony turns to Dean, drops his bag, and backs him into the wall suggestively, hands at his hips.

Dean smiles and presses his own hands to Tony's sides, tilting his head up slightly as their mouths make gentle contact. When Tony breaks his way past Dean's lips with his tongue the younger man digs his fingers into his lover's sides, pulling him closer, sliding his hands around to his back beneath his suit jacket. He rakes his nails down the length of his torso, earning a shudder and a sly grin.

"Careful," Tony whispers onto Dean's mouth. "Wouldn't want your first time being taken to happen on an elevator, would you?"

Dean snorts. "I ain't bein' your bitch, DiNozzo."

Tony reaches around and digs his fingers into Dean's hair, yanking his head back to rest against the wall and dips his own head, nuzzling his face against Dean's throat. "Don't get too cocky, Winchester" he hisses. He ghosts a nip with his teeth at Dean's Adam's apple, and the younger man bites his lip, involuntarily bucking his hips forward against Tony, who pushes right back, causing a bolt of heat to course through both of their skins.

"This is why I hate you," Dean murmurs as Tony slides his hands into his back pockets and locks their bodies together against the wall. "All you gotta do is use your sexy voice and I'm putty in your hands."

Tony stops and smiles directly into Dean's face. "You hate me?"

Dean's gaze flickers down to Tony's lips before jumping back up to his eyes. "Passionately."

After a second of silence, they both lean in for another kiss, and reluctantly Tony pulls away to start the elevator back up and gather his bag again, each of them grateful for jackets that are just long enough to hide the semi-pressing evidence of what they just did.

The second the elevator doors open onto Tony's floor, Dean immediately makes a surprised noise. "You stayed with tangerine, that's...that's a good choice, stylistically."

"I have really learned to embrace it. I'm kinda used to thinking everyone started rubbing Cheetos all over their faces. What _is_ everyone's natural skin color? I dunno, bright friggin' orange?"

They exit the elevator and McGee stands up from his seat. "Dean," he says, holding his hand out to him with a genuine smile lighting up his face. "This is a nice surprise."

Dean offers him a sideways grin as he approaches and shakes Tim's hand. "Thanks. Gotta play bodyguard for a while."

Tony rolls his eyes and parks himself at his desk as Tim's brow furrows. "That sounds serious."

"Oh it's nothing," Tony interjects lightly, booting up his computer and gesturing for Dean to grab a chair from an unoccupied desk. "An angel came to visit last night and told us there's dark energy trailing me so Dean's gotta follow me twenty-four-seven until it's all sorted out. You know..." He makes a face as if he'd just smelled something particularly nasty. "Normal day."

Tim stares at him for a minute while Dean grabs the vacant chair and moves it beside Tony's. "An _angel_? Wait...you mean—"

"An actual, bona fide angel, McGee. Though he didn't have wings which was strange."

"Yeah he has 'em, you just can't see 'em," Dean corrects, planting himself in the chair.

Before Tim can get a word out, the elevator doors open, revealing the silver-haired Gibbs, who strides out of it, carrying his usual cup of coffee in his right hand while wearing his usual nonexistent expression. "Where's Ziva?" he asks calmly, not even offering a "hello" or "good morning."

Dean glances at Ziva's empty desk and Tony leans back in his chair. "Looks like she's late, Boss. Unacceptable; she should get with the program!"

Gibbs narrows his eyes at Tony as if the man is dumber than a bag of hammers while Tim rolls his eyes and sits at his computer again. "She's not late, DiNozzo." He seems to just realize Dean's sitting beside him and his expression changes from impatience to recognition. "Winchester."

Dean waves awkwardly. "Hi."

"What're you doing?"

"Well...I've been given instructions to—"

"The brothers thought a ghost was trailing me. They took care of it but Dean just...wants to make sure."

Gibbs nods. "You boys saved our hides last year; you can do whatever you want."

Dean stops glaring at Tony—trying to telepathically let him know how stupid that was—to innocently flash his pearly whites at Gibbs. "Oh, well, thanks. I won't be in your way, I promise."

Ziva rolls in around ten minutes later, complaining in partial Hebrew about the traffic she had to sit through, and she greets Dean distractedly just as Gibbs's cell phone rings. He flips open his phone and Dean turns to Tony.

"Why'd you say that?" he asks quietly.

Tony's brow furrows. "Say what, 'hello' to Ziva? Um...because it's polite?"

"You lied to your boss because you don't want him to sit you out."

"Like you wouldn't have done the same thing."

Dean's rendered silent as he cannot argue with this, and Gibbs flips his phone shut with a snap.

"Grab your gear."

=o=o=o=o=

Dean's already on his phone as he's ducking into the passenger side of the black NCIS-assigned sedan as Tony turns the key in the ignition. The line rings five times before someone picks up, and by then Dean's clicking his seatbelt in place.

"Hello?"

"Hey Sam, it's me and Tony." Dean puts Sam on speaker.

"Everything okay?"

Dean and Tony exchange unreadable expressions and Tony pulls out of the lot. "We're headed to Arlington, Virginia...apparently there was a dead lieutenant found in a pool or something."

Sam sounds distracted. "Any changes in Tony's problem?"

"I'm still alive, so, no," Tony says, adjusting the rearview mirror and smiling almost reflexively at Dean. He wouldn't willingly admit it but he loves driving with him. Their taste in music is quite similar and if it isn't, Dean is usually if not always introducing him to new artists and songs. He feels more at home in a car with the hunter than he does with anyone else.

"Good," Sam says genuinely, "because I have no idea what this is, let alone how to...get rid of it. Cas wasn't helpful."

Dean bobs his head. "Yeah, well maybe he knows about as much as we do."

Tony suddenly looks alarmed. "So you don't know what could kill me?"

Dean reaches over and grips Tony's arm firmly. "Nothing's gonna kill you, okay? We're gonna figure it out and get rid of it."

Tony glances into the mirror again as he turns out of the navy yard, taking his left hand and placing it on Dean's. They grasp each other's hands and stay that way until Dean hangs up and Tony needs both hands to drive again.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

The lieutenant was found face-down floating at the surface of a half-covered in-ground pool not owned by himself, but his next-door neighbors, who spotted something in the water while looking out their window a few hours prior. He lived alone, and that added on to the fact that the neighbors hadn't been out back in a few days meant no telling how long he'd been there. At least not until the M.E. arrives to determine such.

Dean's stuck outside the front door of the poor family's home as the investigative team does their work, and after taking crime scene photos, assisting in the removal of the corpse from the water, and taking more crime scene photos, Tony trots out of the house to join him.

"Jeez," Dean murmurs when Tony quietly gets him up to speed. "I think it's easy for me to forget about living humans doin' nasty shit to each other."

Tony taps his fingers on his camera, scanning the front yard distractedly. "It might be a suicide. Until Ducky gets here we gotta consider all the options."

"Yeah...could also be somethin' for me and Sam."

There's a tight silence between the two of them as they watch down the street for the medical examiner's van; Tony mulls over in his mind that the existence he'd known for forty-odd years is actually much bigger than he'd ever imagined. Ghosts, angels...and, according to the Winchester brothers, other creatures and monsters...they're all real. When he was a child, Tony was afraid of the ever-popular monster under the bed and/or in the closet. When his mother was alive she would always tell him there's no such thing. No monsters here.

Now, decades later, standing next to one of several people in the country who make it their lives' work to hunt demons and vampires and ghouls, he wonders if she was wrong.

"Dean—"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelps, nearly jumping right into Tony's skin at the sudden appearance of Castiel. He clutches the older man's shoulder as he doubles over, inhaling deeply.

"I'm sorry," Cas grumbles. "But this...is a crime scene."

Tony nods slowly once his own heart rate settles down. "Yes." He points unceremoniously into the house. "Did you miss the yellow tape with the words 'CRIME SCENE' on your way down?"

Cas merely cocks his head. "No..."

"What's up?" Dean presses, eager to get to the point of the impromptu visit before his heart explodes out of his chest.

Cas turns his entire body to Dean. "Be wary. The victim's spirit didn't cross over. If this was a murder, he could not only be vengeful but also trigger whatever dark force is surrounding Tony."

"Why would it do that?"

Before the angel can answer, Tim strolls across the threshold leading outside, camera in hand and brow furrowed in confusion. "Guys, who are you talking t—" He stops right behind Tony and raises his eyebrows at Castiel. "Um...excuse me, sir, this is a crime scene. I'm gonna have to ask you to—"

Cas ignores him completely and turns to Dean once again as Tony keeps alert of Tim's presence. "You of all people should know spirits don't need a reason to do something fueled by rage."

Dean nods. "Okay. So, extra careful around the goods; got it."

Tim blinks rapidly, stepping down from the front step and around Tony. "Whoa, wait...spirits? Are you a hunter too?"

"No," Castiel responds. "I am Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."

The trio watches Tim as he turns an embarrassed shade of puce and his jaw works for a minute, giving off the appearance of a banked salmon. His grip on the camera tightens and for a moment Tony thinks it's going to break. "Um...I'm...so sorry, I didn't know—"

Castiel has the decorum to nod in forgiveness. "It's fine."

Tony breaks into a large smile and pats Tim's shoulder firmly. "Don't worry, Tiny Tim, not everyone has the sturdy resolve of others when it comes to seeing an angel for the first time."

"This is only a vessel," Cas interjects. "If I were to appear in my true form...it would be unpleasant. Most people aren't capable of processing such a thing, and without this vessel your eardrums would burst and your eyeballs would burn out of their sockets."

It's Dean's turn to smile broadly as Tony and Tim stare at Cas in horror.

"You also did not handle my...appearance...very well, Tony."

"Oh, hey, it's the Duck-Man!" Tony quickly interrupts, waving down the lawn as the M.E. turns into the driveway. Jimmy Palmer waves back from the passenger seat. "We'd better...yeah." Tim turns back inside but Tony remains with Dean and Cas, tugging his cap snugger onto his head. "Okay, so Dean, I'm gonna talk to Gibbs and see if he can get you clearance to shadow me throughout the investigation."

"Wise," Cas nods again. "I'll also keep watch as much as I can, and I'll return if I've discovered anything."

With that, he disappears in a rustle of invisible feathers.

Tony briefly reaches up and squeezes the back of Dean's neck affectionately before anyone can catch them, throwing him a reassuring smile, then starts back inside.

"Hey," Dean mutters loud enough for him to hear. When he turns to him, Dean hesitates. "Thanks."

It doesn't need to be explained. Tony gives a small nod, then steps into the house.

Of course, Gibbs is on his phone with the director of NCIS within seconds of Tony's request—closer to minutes after accidentally being put on hold and scolding the secretary more out of slightly amused exasperation than anything else. When Director Vance is finally connected with him, he grins faintly.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

"Director. Do you remember about a year ago getting a few reports handed in to you about a ghost impeding one of our investigations?"

Back at NCIS headquarters, Leon Vance _doesn't_ grimace. When he'd read Gibbs's report he thought at first that the man finally lost his damn marbles, but once he saw the _entire team_ had the same thing to say about a ghost and two men named Sam and Dean Winchester, he had the presence of mind to approach their desks personally and _tell_ them they've all lost their damn marbles.

But when he strode out of his office he was stopped upon noticing every one of Agent Gibbs's team sitting at their desks, silent, appearing as if they'd done everything that was mentioned in those reports. They were tired, but most of all they were pale. Even Gibbs looked peaked though he maintained his stoic disposition as he sat leaning back in his chair, gripping a cup of coffee with a too-tight hand.

A few minutes later Tony had handed the director Dean Winchester's phone number and the whole thing was confirmed just as the brothers were entering Des Moines, Iowa. Vance offered them a medal or some kind of compensation to which Sam, the one who answered the phone, graciously refused.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs, I remember."

The team leader looks at Tony, phone still pressed to his ear. "Do you still owe those boys a favor?"

=o=o=o=o=

"Oh."

Tony turns down the classic rock station in the black sedan and glances at Dean, who was silent up until that point. "Oh?"

The hunter manages a sheepish, boyish grin. "Guess I'll have to take you up on that offer after all."

It takes a minute for it to register what he's talking about, but when he does, Tony glances at his boyfriend again, not doing much to hide his own grin while focusing on the road. "Yeah? You know...I could always put Sam on the couch."

Ignoring the feeling it gives him knowing that means he'd be sleeping in Tony's bed, Dean chuckles. "You got a couch big enough?"

"It's a pull-out."

Dean coughs awkwardly. "Yeah, that'd be great. Better protection with both of us there instead of just one, y'know?" He pauses. "I'd been meaning to talk to you about somethin' anyway."

"You don't have to tell me how awesome I am, Dean. I know."

"You cannot be serious. You aren't even _half_ the amount of awesome that I am."

"No, no, you're right; I'm just two times _more_ awesome."

"Says the man _without_ a '67 Impala."

Tony laughs. It's a full-out, genuine laugh, and it makes both men feel spectacular.


	8. Chapter Seven

Sorry if this chapter is short/choppy/rushed/like crap, I was having a hard time getting in the zone of this one. I can and will do better or die trying.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

For some reason the oddest part about Tony's day occurs when he brings Dean down to Abby's lab; he does not expect Dean to brush past him and meet the forensic scientist in a big, warm, smiley hug that probably would've lifted her off the ground had she not almost passed him in height due to her platform boots. Tony looks on with an expression of exaggerated annoyance.

"You don't hug _me_ like that," he complains.

Dean turns to him once the hug ceases and gazes directly into his eyes with a dark look that clearly says _you're gonna get a hug alright_. Tony quirks an eyebrow and smirks back as Dean resumes his place beside him.

"_So_," Abby interrupts mischievously. "What have you two been up to since being reunited?"

"Lots of dirty, hairy sex, Abs," Tony immediately replies, to which Dean does a double-take. "We're men—the manliest of the menfolk—and everything we do is...disgusting. Including sex with each other."

"Speak for yourself, King Kong," Dean mutters, folding his arms tightly over his chest and gesturing to Tony's.

Tony responds by nodding nonchalantly. "Well, hurtful. Abby, I need to bring _something_ back to Ducky."

Abby's face lights up. "Right," she says slowly, picking up some papers sitting on the table beside where Dean is standing. "And for some reason he can't look at his e-mail?"

"I think he's taken a liking to Dean," Tony says earnestly.

At the crime scene the medical examiner regaled said Winchester with tale upon tale of close supernatural encounters both in his own life and others he'd heard about. Whenever Tony would glance at his companion during this, the younger man was boring a hole into Ducky's skull with his eyes. Whether he was bored out of his gourd with what was being said or genuinely interested was a mystery.

Dean shrugs. "He's a sweet guy."

As Tony takes the papers and starts out of the room, Dean in tow, Abby calls out to them with the same mischievous grin.

"Do you guys realize you're the most gorgeous couple...ever?"

There's a pause. Tony and Dean exchange a glance, then give Abby one last simultaneous smoldering look before disappearing into the hall.

The next oddest thing that happens in Tony's day is running into Gibbs in the elevator. The man takes one look at the couple, one look at the papers, and gives a small smile. "You takin' those down to Ducky?"

"Yes, Boss!"

"No you're not."

"Did I say 'yes?' I meant 'of _course_ not.'" Tony gives Gibbs a weird look as he takes the papers from his hand.

Dean's just as confused. "Agent Gibbs?"

"Go home, DiNozzo," Gibbs says simply. "And take Dean with you."

Tony looks flabbergasted. "Boss?"

The elevator doors open onto autopsy and Gibbs throws him and Dean one last look. "Did you _think_ I wouldn't find out you're in danger? You're not gonna put the rest of the team in danger, too."

And with that, he strides off the elevator and into the lab.

=o=o=o=o=

Sam's already got his things sitting on the couch by the time Dean and Tony get to the apartment, but he's not anywhere to be seen. A quick call confirms he's out to get some edible food since Tony's fridge is currently having a coronary.

Dean's things are sitting beside the couch, an obvious testament to the awkwardness Sam must've felt trying to decide if he should assume they belong in Tony's bedroom or not. The mental image of his brother standing in the middle of the room with the things and internally struggling with the decision almost makes Dean laugh.

But he's too busy watching Tony pick up the aforementioned things and carry them into the bedroom.

He follows, picking up irritation that doesn't seem to fit with the gesture. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe while Tony sets the duffels on the bed—which is surprisingly not as disheveled as Dean had originally imagined. The dark blue covers aren't immaculately made but they also aren't strewn about the bed as if they hadn't seen a restful night's sleep ever.

"Nothing to talk about," Tony answers, his back to Dean. He's employed his infamous passive-aggression. With a quick unzip of each duffel he determines which one holds the weapons and sets that one on the floor, nudging it partially under the bed. "I understand why he's making me sit this one out. And I agree with him. I'm just...upset at the situation."

Dean nods, understanding. "Well...if it makes you feel any better, you're now stuck with me indefinitely."

Tony turns his head in time to see Dean's bright smile, genuine and of course suggestive in nature. "If you taught me some things you wouldn't have to protect me."

This is more of a blow than Tony realizes, and Dean's smile fades. "It's not a big deal," Dean says. "I've been doin' this my whole life and I thought..." He trails off, suddenly disheartened. When he looks at Tony's face it's expectant. "I'm sick of worrying, man."

Tony nods imperceptibly. "Me too."

"Bein' on the road for this long and going weeks at a time without hearing from you...it's the safest option for both of us but I don't like it. So I thought this was a good..." This whole thing is clearly hard for Dean; he shifts in his spot and gesticulates vaguely. "I dunno."

"Hey." Dean looks up at Tony, who's approaching him. "I'm sorry. I don't like it either. Being away from you..." He gently cups Dean's face in his hands and softly kisses the freckled-peppered tip of his nose. "I'm glad you're here. Really."

They smile at each other before meeting in a chaste kiss, Dean combing his fingers through Tony's hair and Tony squeezing the back of Dean's neck as he always does.

Dean pulls the bedroom door shut and Tony pushes Dean's jacket off, grabbing the younger man by the waist and holding him close. Dean initiates another kiss as he removes Tony's tie from around his neck, discarding it somewhere, not caring where it lands since he's too busy sucking his boyfriend's bottom lip into his mouth between his teeth.

Suddenly Tony breaks away, clutching the front of Dean's shirt, turning him so his back's to the bed, and shoving him roughly onto it. The second his back hits the sheets Dean grins, watching spread-eagle as Tony yanks his shirt from his pants and undoes the buttons with sharp, quick movements. He leans down and presses his lips to Dean's jaw.

"I've been wanting to get you on this bed for months," Tony smirks into Dean's ear. In response the hunter lifts his legs and wraps them around Tony's waist, locking him in place. They can feel each other's hardness through their pants. "Still not gonna be my bitch, huh?"

Dean slips Tony's shirt off his shoulders. "I don't like you _that_ much," he growls with a wink.

"Alright, looks like I'm gonna be the catcher now," Tony replies a little too casually.

Dean stops him from removing _his_ shirt. "What?!"

"What, you don't think I trust you enough? Dean, I love you. I need this connection with you _somehow_, and if it's not one way then it's gonna be the other way."

There's a silence as Dean watches him, absently massaging Tony's palm with his thumb. "I love you too."

Tony gives him a quiet thousand-watt smile. "Good."

They stay like that for another few minutes.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Dean feels the dark energy the second he and Tony join. It tears at his heart and pulls him deeper inside—making him grateful Tony insisted on using half a full bottle of lube—and he could swear Tony says something but all he can hear is a low frequency pulse in his head. Then Tony bites Dean's lip and he knows they _both_ feeling the same thing and when Dean begins to move it's not merciful.

At one point he thinks he hears Sam entering the apartment but he doesn't care; he's cradling Tony's head in one hand while stroking him with the other, both absolutely silent save for the heavy breathing and occasional grunt, not tearing their eyes away from one another's. Every so often Dean will stop stroking and run a hand through Tony's chest hair and Tony will tighten his legs around his waist.

When Sam turns on the TV loud in the other room Dean's grateful and lets loose a mighty swear, digging his nails into Tony's chest as if he wanted to actually take his heart _out_ of his body. They know they're engulfed by whatever it is Tony's got trailing him but they're too far gone to do anything about it and it's all Dean can do to reel himself in.

But then Tony lets go and there's a sensation similar to a fishhook piercing behind Dean's navel and ripping through his spine, white-hot pain so intense he's actually rendered completely still for a moment before he pushes through and releases with a groan, trembling from both the pleasure and the pain.

The pain subsides but Dean's completely drained, and he collapses onto Tony, briefly slipping out of consciousness.

"Hey," Tony whispers breathlessly as the hunter comes to after a moment. He presses a hand to the side of his face. "You okay?"

Dean nods, the dim orange glow of the room coming back into focus. "Y-yeah."

Tony strokes his hair purposefully, his brow furrowed with concern. "The hell was that?"

Of course, neither of them have an answer.

=o=o=o=o=

When they shuffle out of Tony's room, showered and dressed, Sam waves at them from the kitchen table where he has the laptop and a book open along with a glass of water sitting a reasonable distance from the keyboard.

"Any luck yet?" Dean asks, patting Tony's shoulder before taking a seat across from Sam and grabbing the book.

Sam shakes his head as Tony grabs three beers from the fridge. "Not much. I figured you guys were busy so I didn't want to bother you...what are you doing here?"

"I was dropped from the case," Tony mutters, handing a can to Dean and offering one to Sam, who politely declines. "Gibbs doesn't want me endangering the whole team."

"Well that was a good call but I don't think it's gonna help," Sam declares. "According to Cas this dark energy or whatever is branching out."

Dean frowns after popping open his can. "That sounds bad."

"He said it's definitely a spirit but it's stronger and more freely-moving than anything we've ever seen before. So it's following others in the team for a little while before returning to Tony."

Tony takes the seat between the brothers at the table, opening his beer. "This sounds familiar," he says, his voice grim.

Thinking back, Dean zones out for a moment. The ghost that brought the Winchesters and NCIS together the first time was after the team because they'd put him in prison and clearly could not let it go even after dying in his cell. He was particularly attached to Gibbs since he was the last one of the agents to talk to him before being carted off to jail.

"Did you kill someone recently?"

Tony blinks at Dean. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific."

Sam seems to understand where Dean's going with this but he lets him speak. "I'm a little concerned about what you just said but I'm gonna ignore it. Did you specifically kill a perp in the line of duty within the last year?"

"That's _too_ specific."

Sam makes a sympathetic face. "Dean's on to something...the more gruesome the death, the angrier their ghost is if they don't move on..."

"So you think this might be another ghost after us?"

"Mostly you." Dean swigs his beer. "Tell us what happened."

Tony sighs and leans into the table, resting his folded arms on the surface and staring at the still-fresh cut from the demon test Dean had to give him. He absently runs his finger along it just firmly enough to cause a bit of pain. "Um...a gunny had killed three lieutenants and we caught him at a metro station...he jumped me and..." He presses harder on the cut. "He had a knife on me, I didn't have a choice."

"You pushed him in front of a train?" Sam asks gently.

Tony nods stiffly. "I didn't even really mean to push him that far, I just...it was me or him."

Dean's frown deepens. "Is that why you called me at two in the morning?"

Tony remains silent but lifts his eyes to meet with Dean's. He breaks into a slightly sheepish grin, the pressure on his cut keeping him grinning instead of delving into a dark place. "I actually was hoping for phone sex but yeah that worked too."

Sam shakes his head of that image and clears his throat. "So...you're gonna have to tell Agent Gibbs to let you go back to work—"

"Nope," Dean interrupts loudly. "That's a bad idea. We wanna keep this guy as far away from the other agents as possible. Tony stays with us until we can gank the son of a bitch and end this."

Sam makes to argue with him but one look from Tony says it's better to drop it, so he does. For the moment.

"Need help with the couch?"

The youngest Winchester shakes his head. "No thanks, Tony, I got it."

He can feel Dean's eyes on him for the next two minutes.

=o=o=o=o=

Abby turns her music up so it's barely loud enough to shake the walls of her lab, gives a satisfied smile before closing the sliding glass doors, and sits at her desk. She opens her e-mail and not five seconds later receives a new message from no sender.

Suddenly the phone on the desk rings and Abby jumps, hesitating before picking up. "Yeah?"

"I think you should meet me outside of Autopsy as soon as possible."

Abby frowns both at the urgency in Ducky's brogue and the complete nothingness she discovers within the new e-mail. It's not a virus, not a mistakenly sent message, just a positively blank e-mail. "What's wrong?"

"We need to call the Winchesters."

The lights in the lab flicker just then, startling Abby, and when she exhales she can _see_ her breath leaving her body. She only notices the dramatic temperature drop for a brief moment before seeing something out of the corner of her eye, standing in the side of the lab nearest to the door leading out.

"D-Ducky...?"

The phone line is dead. Slowly Abby turns her head, receiver still pressed tightly to her ear, and peers out into the lab.

The dead lieutenant is standing there, staring at her with cold, angry eyes. He's dripping water onto the floor and bleeding black from his eye sockets and mouth.

"Oh," Abby whispers, face scrunching into a horrified grimace, "no..."

The loud music masks the shattering of the sliding door and Abby's ear-piercing shriek from the rest of the building.


	10. Chapter Nine

I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Dean walks into the bedroom after the three of them order and destroy a pizza—Sam took a slice while his brother and the agent finished off the rest—to find Tony stripping the bed and putting new sheets down. Dean closes the door with a swift swing, a little embarrassed.

"You okay?" Dean asks, quietly echoing Tony's question from earlier in the evening.

Tony glances up before throwing the soiled covers in the corner of the room. "I'm gonna hurt like hell in the morning but yeah, I'm fine. I've taken worse beatings."

Dean has the decency to flush a little as he moves to help with the sheets. "I dunno what happened. I think I was possessed."

"I think we both were," Tony murmurs. "I definitely did not feel like myself."

They're silent while they work on the bed for a few more moments, and Dean hesitates. "It was kinda hot though, right?"

"_Extremely_ hot. Like literally the best sex I ever had."

"So is this gonna be a regular thing?"

Tony halts putting the pillows back onto the bed and frowns at his lover. "Pretty sure sex is as regular a thing as it's gonna be between us, babe. I mean, we have urges and...splurges...and nurg-furging surges..."

Dean grins affectionately. "Okay, dunno what the hell _that_ was, Dr. Seuss, but I meant something else."

"I know what you meant. And...I guess I enjoyed it enough."

There's a silence as they watch each other, Dean swallowing with nerves, grin fading, and Tony fiddling with the corner of the pillow in his hands. They know how potentially serious the incident was and yet neither of them want to verbally acknowledge it; in Tony's case saying it aloud makes it all the more frightening and in Dean's it makes it all the more out of his control.

But Dean can feel the tension come to a boil before it happens, and Tony clears his throat. "I'm gonna be okay, right?"

Dean circumnavigates the bed and approaches Tony carefully. "I can't see the future," he says with all the honesty he can muster, "but I can promise you that I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

Tony nods, visually taking in all the honesty in Dean's face, then goes in for an embrace Dean's all too happy to return, keeping his arms tight around the older man and rubbing his back.

"You smell really good," Tony murmurs, his voice muffled by Dean's neck. "Like a pillow stuffed with manliness."

Dean breaks into a smile and cradles the back of Tony's head.

=o=o=o=o=

"Dean? Tony? We gotta go."

Tony cracks his eyes open to the sound of someone banging on the bedroom door calmly but with a hint of urgency. The first thing he sees, however, is Dean, sound asleep on his back and unfazed by the noise...which bothers Tony a little considering for Dean's line of work it would probably be beneficial to be on one's guard at all times. But the thought hits him that clearly his companion feels safe enough in his presence to allow himself _to_ fall asleep so soundly, and Tony beams.

"Dean. Tony."

It registers that Sam's still knocking on the door and Tony presses a hand firmly onto Dean's chest. "What," Tony barks towards the door behind him.

"We gotta get down to NCIS headquarters, like, three hours ago."

By now Dean's prying his eyes open and reflexively holding Tony's hand to his heart, grinning like he's just been propositioned. He then blinks upon immediately realizing this isn't a social call.

"Why?" Tony asks Sam.

At first there isn't a response. The men can hear a muffled sigh from behind the door. "Agent Gibbs just called. There's been an attack."

This catches Tony's attention. In a flash he shoves himself out of bed and stumbles to the door, taking a deep breath before yanking it open and leaning one arm against the frame, hair disheveled and eyes still filled with sleep as he adjusts to the light pouring in. Sam is right in front of him, his expression concerned as he grips his cellphone near his face.

"Was anybody...?"

Sam glances inside the room at Dean, who's sitting up in bed, watching with apprehension. "Nobody was killed. Abby and Dr. Mallard were targeted but they're okay. He's mostly just shaken up but Abby's been hurt pretty badly."

Dean's already pulling a shirt on over his head as Tony reacts. "She at a hospital?"

"Agent Gibbs was in the ambulance with her when he called."

Tony swears sharply, turning back into the room to get dressed.

Dean comes to the door. "Alright, we'll go down to headquarters and assess the damage; Tony'll go see if Abby's okay."

"No," Tony interrupts in the middle of stuffing his arms into a sweater. "I'm going with you guys. Abby will be alright, she's got Gibbs with her, plus she's stronger than she looks."

"Tony—"

"Dean, this isn't up for discussion. NCIS is _my_ home, and I want to help you to gank the sunnuvabitch who did this to my _family_."

Dean overrides his pride at the sudden adapted vernacular and gives a tight nod, their eyes locking after Tony pulls the sweater down over his torso. If anyone on Earth knows the meaning of family, even surrogate family, it's the Winchesters. "Okay. We got your back."

"I know," Tony responds tersely, brushing past the brothers to grab his gear.

=o=o=o=o=

The scene isn't as bad as any of them expected; the floor of the forensic lab is covered in shattered glass and despite obvious signs of struggle nothing else is broken. The sight that causes the trio to grimace, however, is the smear of blood creating a path around the front half of the lab as if someone had been dragged around with an open wound or two, leading to a small pool beside the refrigeration unit where said injured person was presumably left to bleed out.

"This Abby's?" Tony asks quietly, gesturing to the blood trail.

There's a snap of rubber gloves behind them and they turn around to find Tim stepping into the lab, camera hanging around his neck. "Yeah," he answers. "I just got off the phone with Gibbs, he said she's gonna be fine. The wounds are mostly superficial, but she's pretty shook up."

Dean steps over to the blood by the cooler while Sam kneels down to scrutinize the trail. "Is Ducky gonna be okay?"

Tim lifts the camera at a spot right beside Sam. "Yeah, Ziva's with him now. He was on the phone with Abby, telling her to call you guys, but he barely had a chance to before the line went dead and he saw a dark figure in the corner of the room." He takes a few pictures and lowers the camera. "You'd probably get better luck from _his_ statement."

Sam looks at Dean, who's looking right back at him, deep crease in his brow and down-turned corners of his mouth suggesting they're thinking the same thing.

Tony glances at the brothers and picks up on the tension. "What?"

"Ducky and Abby were hit at the same time," Dean answers, lifting his head. "Whatever this thing is...there could be more than one of them."

Tim's suddenly visibly alarmed. "You don't know what this is?"

Dean narrows his eyes in his and Tony's direction, a muscle in his jaw working. He doesn't even need to say anything, the look conveys it all.


End file.
